


The Benevolent

by Neila_Nuruodo



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Assisted Masturbation, BDSM, F/M, Oral Sex, Pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:54:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21618700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neila_Nuruodo/pseuds/Neila_Nuruodo
Summary: Musing on what a title like "the Benevolent" could refer to, I had the intriguing idea that this Convocation member might be an emotional empath.  Then of course I turned it into smut.
Relationships: Deudalaphon/Nabriales (Final Fantasy XIV)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	The Benevolent

Not for nothing was I called "The Benevolent." As the Convocation—well, its tattered remnants—adjourned, splitting into pairs to plan or singly teleporting away, my eyes lingered on Nabriales. Discontent radiated from the recently-raised Ascian. None save me would likely have interpreted the tightness of his lips, the faint frown, correctly, but the glyph of power imprinted on my soul let me see things none other could. It interpreted the flow of aether within his soul such that I could feel what he felt. Inconveniently, it also pushed me to act.

I tore reality, stepping through to stand next to him. He turned to me, arms crossed.

“Can I help you?”

I smiled. “I fear not. But I can help you.”

“I doubt it.”

I glanced around. The space had emptied out, all save Elidibus departing to see to their work. He caught my glance and gave me a nod before disappearing. _So nice to have your approval, Emissary,_ I thought wryly. Now alone, I reached out to Nabriales, my hand brushing his shoulder. "You returned to us at a difficult time," I said softly. "Our ranks have been decimated, we stand beset from all sides, and Elidibus struggles to bear the burden which should be split among three. Atop all that, your soul, your power is formidable, so despite your inexperience, you have been generally left to your own devices. This leaves you in the unenviable state of having more responsibility than freedom—not to mention leaving you to work alone when you would benefit from company nearly as much as guidance."

Anger grew within him, crystallizing like ice feathers growing across a skin of water. "I don’t need you to _analyze_ me. How could you possibly understand?”

By way of response I drew upon my power. My glyph flared to life before my face, the channeled power sharpening my focus, drawing everything into clearer relief and making the ambient aether about us seem to dance, nearly tangible. It also enhanced my ability to read and even touch his aether; a gentle tug of power loosed a painful knot of emotion binding him within. At the same time I reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder and opening a connection.

He drew a breath of surprise as he felt my power, saw for a moment through my eyes. His lips parted as understanding dawned. I drew the connection closed, letting my hand drop. Between the glimpse of my perception and the subtle healing I’d given him, his emotions had grown calmer, under control. But I knew how quickly that knot could draw tight again were the conditions underlying it not resolved.

I let my power fall dormant. “Would that I could partner with you in your work. Alas, we are stretched too thin as it is. But I believe I can help to ease your loneliness at the least.”

For a moment he considered me; his mask might hide his expression, but his emotions stood as an open book to me—as all emotion did. He feared and hoped in equal measure; despair and determination likewise found balance within him. I credited this equilibrium to my efforts, both the touch to his emotions and the consideration I now extended. Upon this fulcrum he teetered, and even I could not say what his decision would be.

“I don’t think so,” he said at length, though without rancor. “You are… not equipped, shall we say, to give me what I want.”

I tipped my head to the side, studying him in greater depth. A faint embarrassment pervaded him, and I contained my amusement. I had wondered if he was feeling unfulfilled sexually; this did support that likelihood. Certainly his last incarnation had demonstrated a significant appetite in that respect.

At my will, crackling darkness wound itself into a rope, draping his shoulders and pulling his head down for me. Not anticipating my assault, he stumbled, unbalanced, and I caught him by shoulder and chin. My lips near brushed his as I spoke.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps you have _forgotten_ all that we are capable of. I may lack your raw power, but I have lifetimes of tricks at my disposal."

Recovering his footing, he tried to straighten. I released him, still smiling at his discomfiture. He made a show of readjusting his robes with a huff. "Very impressive, I'm sure. But it is not your power—or your tricks—that are wanting. To be frank, I doubt a woman can give me what I desire."

"Then what is it, precisely, that you desire?"

Faint pink dusted his cheeks below the mask. "I tire of being expected to take charge of every romantic encounter. I crave one who might take charge of me. In essence, I have had my fill of fucking. I wish to be fucked."

He delivered this almost without emotion, and I could not help but empathize with his disillusionment. "And your mortal dalliances have not provided you with any such opportunity?"

"I have not had any shortage of willing mortals. But there can be no real submission to one of their ilk. The strongest chains they can craft shred like damp paper before my strength, and they lack the power to bind me magically. And so it rings false, empty pretense."

"It is that which you desire, then? The firm hand of one of your peers?" His emotions immediately assented, though he made a show of deliberating before nodding. I laughed. “One might suspect I have lost my touch at matchmaking to propose a pair as seemingly ill-fitting as the two of us. However, we are matched in our wishes; namely, that you want for subjugation, and I want to subjugate.”

He crossed his arms, the corners of his lips downturned. Dissatisfaction emanated plainly from him as he considered. I decided a demonstration was in order.

"Very well; let us try this. I shall put a collar on you; you will attempt to break it. With your permission?" I cocked my head; beneath his mask, he smirked.

"This should prove to be entertaining. Very well."

I raised my hands, shaping aether, drawing it together to encircle his throat. I built it slowly, carefully, subtly twining it with his own aether in a reinforcement loop. Finished, I stepped back and waved for him to proceed.

Still smirking, he gathered his power, glyph igniting, and brought it crashing down on the collar. Connected as it was to his aether, it held, drawing from him to withstand the blow. His smile fell away as he realized he couldn’t simply shatter it… as he’d no doubt assumed he could, with his might. I tried to hold back a smile, but it cracked through.

“What did you do?” His voice echoed the budding fury and horror that burst through him.

“Calm yourself; I will not hold you against your will. I wished merely to demonstrate my point.”

His alarm faded, his teeth coming together in a snarl. “I haven’t given up just yet,” he growled, and turned his attention back to the collar. He focused power to a razor edge, trying to sever it; again it reinforced itself with his power. When this proved ineffective, he began trying to expand it, to force it apart.

“You will have no luck with brute force,” I eventually told him, worried he might hurt or drain himself overmuch in his efforts. He gave me a patently annoyed look, the cant of his head and twist of his lip speaking silent volumes, but I could see his resolve weakening. It was not much longer before he released his power, turning a potent scowl on me.

“How did you do this?”

“I used your own power to energize it. As such it cannot be broken until it is disentangled from you.”

Lips parted, he stared for a moment. “Clever,” he allowed, grudgingly.

“It is fiendishly difficult to remove from oneself, but another with the knowledge can remove it with ease.” Armed with this new information, he made another attempt, but the mechanics of extricating himself from it proved beyond his experience. _He is yet young. Once he gains the knowledge born of age and experience, he will not be so easily contained._ Finally he ceased his efforts, staring at me. Frustration grappled with growing admiration; burgeoning curiosity also made its appearance. Directed toward what, precisely, remained in question.

He seemed to be waiting for something; no doubt for me to remove the collar. I would do no such thing… not until he confessed that he could not remove it and sought my help. And unlike him, I took great pleasure in his state; I was more than content to wait. Finally he scowled.

“Well?”

I inspected the claws of my glove absently. “Well, what?”

“Take it off.”

I smirked. “Can you not remove it yourself?”

Again he showed his teeth, anger rising. Again he refused to say the words.

“The collar serves as more than an object lesson, you realize,” I said, raising a hand. I seized the collar in aetheric chains and _yanked_ downward. He gave a smothered cry of surprise as I drove him to his knees, hard. His head snapped up to me, and he struggled to rise. I held him in place. His efforts to fight my hold fed through the collar, preventing him from standing up again. He snarled, straining, and rage rose in him. Alongside it, wave for cresting wave, rose lust, to my reassurance and delight.

“You need but confess you cannot do it, and I will remove it,” I said, stepping up to him and bending down. I took his chin in my hand and waited. Predictably, he clung to his stubbornness. Less so, the anger died away, forced aside by anticipation. I bent close, bringing my lips within a fraction of an ilm of his own. The lust sharpened, jabbing me, and I felt moisture blossom at my core. I closed the gap, kissing him hard, forcing his lips apart with my tongue and plundering his mouth when he groaned and opened for me. He tasted strange, though not bad—reminiscent of dusty stone and something spicier, cloves perhaps. Absent were the more floral notes I was accustomed to, and I delved further, exploring the taste of him, the textures of teeth and flesh.

He followed when I pulled back, lips chasing mine, one last hungry sound escaping him as the contact broke. Still on his knees before me, he strained up toward me, lips parted, color high. I smiled, affection warming me, and cupped his cheek.

"Ah, Nabriales, you are in such a lovely state," I murmured. His color deepened, and he made another attempt to rise—as futile as those before. "Now, perhaps, you begin to see the truth—I can give you _exactly_ what you need."

"Teach me how to remove this collar," he said. His tone fell somewhere between a command and a plea, and I laughed.

"Ah, but what will you give me of equal value to this precious knowledge?" He subsided, uncertainty growing within him, and I tipped up his chin. "Give yourself over to me for the day, and when I have finished with you, I will teach you. Or, if you still fear I cannot fulfill you—or fear to place yourself in my power—but confess you cannot remove the collar, and I shall free you."

He teetered, undecided. "And what will you do with me if I place myself in your power?"

I chuckled, low and dark. "Whatever I wish." Still bucking my control, he continued to deliberate, most likely seeking some third option. There was one, of course… one that would demand he swallow his pride, admit to another that he could not escape my binding, and seek their assistance in removing the collar. Not for a moment did I believe he would take that route.

Letting his chin slip from my fingers, I stepped back. "You take too long. Once you finally decide, come to my abode." I connected to him again, just long enough to show him how to find it, then I teleported away, leaving him stuttering a useless objection.

I didn't know how long his pride would make him wait before coming to me, so I brought my work with me to my bedroom. Knowing where to look, he would be able to fix upon my presence and teleport directly to me if he so chose. And I knew just how to get what I wanted from him. Setting him out of my mind, I reviewed my notes on aetherial concentrations and balances, looking for the perfect place to begin my next task.

It wasn’t long before I felt his presence arrive. He didn’t teleport directly to me, as I had thought he might. I continued my work, biding as I sensed him moving through my domicile. When he reached the threshold of the bedroom, I raised my head.

“Have you decided, then?”

His eyes were not on me. His head was turned to the side, lips forming a small “o” as he stared at my wall.

“What are those?”

Grinning, I set my work aside. “They are a creation of mine. Each can be fastened to my hips to serve me just as a man’s staff serves him.” He drifted toward them, and I stood, coming behind him, slipping an arm around him to rest on his hip. “Allowing me to fuck as a man might.”

This close, I heard his softly intaken breath as the concept sank in, felt his hips shift, tilting, just an ilm or so. His gaze roved over the display. I had crafted each one lovingly, some smaller for smaller or less experienced lovers, some large for those craving a thrill. Some were highly realistic and detailed, loving replicas of flesh, and others more fantastical, with varying shapes and textures. I couldn’t help a smile when I saw his emotional state. I had him now.

“If you give yourself over to me,” I murmured, “I will permit you to choose which of these to use on you.” He turned his face to mine at my words, sharp need rising in him. I felt him make his decision. He swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing, and turned back to the display. The tips of his claws revealed his fingers’ tremor as he extended his hand toward a particular one—a rather bold choice.

“That one,” he said, the faintest quaver in his voice betraying his state.

“Then you agree to my conditions?”

“Yes,” he said, soft but certain.

“Yes, what?”

Again his head came around, color staining his cheeks. After a resentful silence, he said, “Yes, Mistress.”

The words, the hard-won surrender, sent a spike of desire to my groin. “Good,” I said. "Then strip for me. I want you naked save for your mask."

He spun wordlessly, moving toward the bed. I took the chosen tool down from its pegs, cradling it gently as I turned to follow him. A wave of my hand banished my clothing, though I retained my boots, gloves, and mask. I sighed as I nestled the created phallus into its place. Soft material at the terminal end molded to my labia; aether held it in place without the need for further fasteners. I stalked toward the bed, enjoying Nabriales’s reaction to the sight of me. I knew myself to be beautiful, commanding; barely parted lips spoke mutely of how stunning I was, how I affected him.

Good.

I climbed atop the bed, moving now on all fours toward him. He fell back as I crawled up his lanky form, his emotions spiking high. I seized a handful of his hair and wrenched his head back, sealing my lips over his as they parted. He offered up a soft groan as I tasted him again, learning his contours. I cataloged all that caused a reaction, finding what pleased him, what made him shiver or start or surrender. He arched under me, one hand rising to skim my waist. I seized it, pinning it to the pillow beside his head, and pressed my hips into him, my toy poking his belly.

The contact wrenched a needy sound from him, and he surged upward beneath me. With a sigh I released his mouth, sitting back to inspect my handiwork, straddling his abdomen. His hair, still tangled in my fingers, was delightfully mussed out of its typical careful style. His cheeks were flushed, his lips pink and glossy from the kiss, parted to facilitate his panting breaths.

"If you wish to master removing the self-reinforcing binding from yourself, you will need to practice the technique more than once." I began weaving another restraint around the wrist still in my grasp. He turned, watching what I did curiously. When I began the process again with his other wrist, though, he frowned.

"Is that necessary?"

I used the collar and shackle to pin him to the bed, giving him a heated look as I loomed over him. "You’re mine for today. I will do with you as I will.” Chuckling, I kissed the frown off his lips. “When I finish with you, no one will be able to bind you like this unless you permit them to." The snaring aether wound about his wrist. "Of course, it requires concentration to actually remove them." I grinned. "Knowing the technique will avail you little if I keep you in a state of distraction." The manacle snapped fully into place, and I leaned back, releasing the energy holding him down. Dropping my voice, I murmured, “In case you think my teaching you would prevent you from being bound and controlled ever again… should you desire it.”

He frowned, thoughtful this time, and I moved down his body, binding each of his ankles in turn. That accomplished, I tested the bonds, pulling his limbs out until he lay spread-eagled. I smiled, pleased, and shifted to face his head once again.

“How conscientious you are, Mistress, to give me such thorough instruction on this subject.”

His sarcastic tone caused my hackles to rise. I put my hands on his shoulders, digging the claws in deliberately. He gasped, and I smirked.

“I see I shall have to take a firmer hand with you.” I drew the shackles just a bit further, stretching his limbs, careful not to damage his vessel. I kept a keen eye upon his emotions, watching for pain to overwhelm desire, but it seemed he could take the punishment his smart mouth begged for.

His head fell back, and I drew the claws downward, drawing two trios of welts across his skin. I stopped before reaching his nipples, releasing his limbs. For a moment he lay beneath me, chest heaving. I ran my thumbs over his nipples, careful, using only the pad, unsure how sensitive they were. He hissed and raised his head. I bent my head to lick one, tongue tip swirling, then breathed lightly over it. He responded with a groan.

“Mercy, Mistress…”

I looked up, holding eye contact with his mask as I repeated my ministrations to the other. He finally realized his hands were free, drawing them closer to his sides and fisting them in the bedsheets.

“Mercy,” I snarled, “is for _obedient_ pets.” I pressed my claws into his flesh again, below the nipples this time, drawing more scratches down his skin. He groaned, tensing, then arching as I drew lower. I could not help but find him much more enticing like this, with his mask of sarcasm fallen away in his need. Pleased, I put my lips to his skin, kissing and licking the dusting of hair trailing from his navel toward his groin. His hips began moving, undulating helplessly beneath me. It was clear what he desired, but I took care not to touch his erection, knowing the craving would drive him even wilder than contact would. When I reached the point where I could go no further without fetching up against it, I levered myself up, trailing my claws more gently down his thighs.

His head was again tilted back, chest working in time to his panting, hands wringing the cloth beneath them.

“Much better,” I praised him. “Now, turn over for me.”

He drew a deep, shuddering breath and sat up, repositioning onto his front. I let my hands glide up his back, teasing with light brushes of the metal talons as he settled into the mattress, his head turning to one side so he could see me. I reached up, cupping his chin in my hand as I straddled his back. My thumb stroked the hair edging his jaw, and I kissed him briefly, a quick but heated exploration.

I shifted to the back of his neck, biting the skin over his spine and letting my teeth scrape together. He groaned, back arching, and I laid bite after bite on his skin, working towards his shoulder. There I dug my teeth in deeper, feeling muscle tense to firmness beneath my lips. I began rolling my hips as well, pressing the head of the phallus into his lower back. This drew a gasp and groan from him; he pressed up against the friction. In response, I seized the shackles about his ankles and pulled them outward, forcing him flat to the mattress once more.

He whimpered at the loss of contact, and I drew my hand from his chin down to his throat. Bringing my lips close to his ear, I hissed, "You get what I give you. Understood?"

"Yes, Mistress," he panted. I released his ankles; when he didn't try anything further while I sank my teeth again into his shoulder I let my hips dip again, dragging the toy's tip lightly down his spine. He shivered but didn't try to rise again, submitting to my touch. I rewarded him by grinding harder against him as I began moving down his back, creating a path of bites and trailing claws. His hips began moving in a slow roll, rubbing himself against the bed beneath him. He cried out when my toy crested his tailbone to begin a slide down the crevasse of his buttocks. I could not help a fond chuckle at the vocal ardency of his need, though I did not stop my tantalizing progress down his spine.

I did halt my descent when my lips reached his tailbone, adjusting my position so I knelt between his thighs. I waved my hand, sending a tendril of power to wrap around the vial of lubricating oil standing on my bedside table. It rose, borne by dark energy to my hand. I tucked it between my thighs, gripping it upright as I tugged the glove off my left hand. I slid my bared index finger into the bottle, tipping it to ensure it received a thorough coating.

I cupped his buttocks, spreading them, then paused. "Have you been penetrated before?"

His head came up. "Of course." His almost haughty delivery made me question his sincerity, but a check of his emotional state confirmed his honesty. I touched my finger to his center, smirking as need wiped the arrogance from his face. With torturous slowness I drew circles on the puckered skin, savoring the way he shimmied, silently pleading for more not with words but the language of flesh and skin.

When I deemed him properly prepared—and sufficiently teased—I pressed my finger at the center of his disc, working the slicked digit in and out. He contracted around me, his body arching as I readied him, lovely sounds of need escaping his lips to my every movement.

"Mistress, please… I need more…"

Satisfied, I withdrew, giving his rump a smack with my open hand. "Then get on your hands and knees." He complied eagerly, and I tipped more oil from my bottle, stroking it up and down the length of my phallus. A wave of my hand rid myself of the residue, leaving the hand clean, and I pulled my glove back on. I sent the bottle back to its place and rose on my knees behind him.

I manipulated his shackles mercilessly, arranging his legs until he knelt at the height I wanted, thighs spread for me. I sent my aether forth, sheathing the phallus in it to give me some artificial sensation—not as sharp or clear as my own flesh, but enough to feel him from inside. One gloved hand cupped the toy as I guided it into place; his back convulsed as I settled against him.

“Is there something you want, my pet?” I ran the backs of my claws up his spine, slowly, worshiping each indentation and ridge.

“Please,” he cried, arching. “Please, Mistress, fuck me!”

I grinned. “With pleasure.”

I rocked my hips forward, slow and careful but inexorable. He groaned delectably as the head of my toy penetrated him, and I leaned as close as I could toward his ear.

"Sing for me," I commanded, tugging on his shackles as I did. He obeyed beautifully, throwing his head back as whimpers and moans pealed from his lips with each of my thrusts. His back arched, muscle popping starkly out as he shuddered in ecstasy. I grabbed his shoulder in one hand, pressing talons into yielding flesh. The other hand I let skate toward his ribs, sliding up his abdomen ridge by ridge. I felt the muscles flex as my fingertips ascended, and his head dropped as I reached the base of his sternum. My hips began a rhythm, and I drew my hand downward again, claw tips scraping over skin. He cried out, throwing his head back as he arched for me.

“Lovely,” I murmured. I sped up my thrusts, monitoring his state. He would not find release until I permitted it. I drew my claws down his body again, starting at the side of his ribs and ending at his hip. There I gripped him, using the leverage to increase the power of my thrusts. He groaned, and I brought my other hand, the one at his shoulder, down his back in the same manner. I leaned over his back, reaching up to tease a nipple with the back of one metal-chased knuckle. He flexed, his back popping up, brushing my breasts.

“That is really a bit much,” he griped. I grinned, knowing he couldn’t see my face.

“Did I give you _leave_ to speak?” I hauled him back by the collar so I could growl close to his ear. “You may petition to speak if you have something to say. ‘Please, Mistress’ will do nicely. Am I understood?”

He gasped, eyes rolling back toward me. “Yes, Mistress,” he rasped, and I released him, letting his head fall. I teased his nipple again, deliberately, making him groan, but this time he held his tongue. Satisfied, I released the pebbled bud, running my hand up and down his abdomen until his lust rose again to ascendance. Once I was assured of his enjoyment, I again raked the metal over his skin, speeding up the pace of my thrusts concurrently. He continued to pant and moan for me as I drove him closer to the edge. Each advance in pleasure I moderated with torment, teasing his sensitive areas, drawing claws carefully over his skin, or clenching in a bruising hold to increase my leverage over his body.

I saw his emotions begin to peak and stopped. He gave a whine, lifting his head to look back at me. “M-mistress, please…” he sobbed.

Pleased he’d remembered, I decided to hear his petition. “Speak.”

“I beg you, do not stop.” I reached up, letting my hand slide along his spine to cup the front of his throat. He swallowed hard at the touch. “Please, Mistress… I need this.”

“Do you think a woman can, perhaps, give you what you need after all?”

“Yes!” he cried, his head tipping back as my hand tightened fractionally. “Yes, Mistress. You have opened my eyes… and now I _need_ you…”

I smiled, pleased by his confession. I began moving my hips again. His groan of desire vibrated through my hand. I let it slide back to his shoulder, releasing his head to fall once more, bracing myself as I increased the pace. I monitored his emotions as I reached a punishing rhythm.

“Take yourself in hand,” I ordered. Head still drooping, he braced on one elbow, the other hand groping toward the juncture of his thighs. I felt him contract about me as he gripped himself. “Good,” I murmured. “Go on, stroke yourself. You’ve earned it.”

He gave a strangled sob as I thrust harder, angling deeper. He strained, tendon and muscle standing out on his neck as his head came up, teeth gritted. I dug my talons again into his shoulder and hip, breathing fast. The intensity of his desire and need, held so long at the very edge of fulfillment, was beginning to affect me. Every thrust drove the toy against me, massaging my clitoris through the skin shrouding it. It wasn’t enough. I drove into him harder and felt his desire crest.

“Come for me,” I panted, angling my phallus to grind onto his prostate. He shouted, hips bucking, body shuddering and bowing beneath me as he surrendered utterly. I rode him through it, gentling my strokes, prolonging his pleasure as much as I could. His ecstasy flooded me, not quite enough to drive me to my own peak but gratifying even so. With a final tremor he went limp, and I gently withdrew from him, releasing the aether that held the toy in place and setting it aside as I curled against his side.

Slowly, tenderly, I ran my hands up and down his body. I used no claw touches, just gentle caresses to soothe his wracked form. His harsh gasps slowed, evening out gradually. I feathered touches up his back, pressing into the muscle when he gave a “mmm” of pleasure. I worked my way up to his shoulders, massaging carefully around the scratches I’d left, working his muscles looser.

He sighed, relaxing beneath my touch, taking a deep breath and raising his head. He reached up, fingertips finding the edge of his mask, and pulled it off. I reined in my surprise at the intimate gesture. Curious, I let my hands wander up to his head, running fingers through his disheveled hair, and he pressed into the touch, turning his face toward me. I wasn’t sure what I would see on his face—embarrassment, relief, gratitude—but I wasn’t expecting naked desire. He turned onto his side, facing me with a smirk.

“How are you feeling?”

He seemed surprised by the question. “Why, Mistress, I might start to think you cared.”

“Believe it or not, Nabriales, I _do_ care." I smiled, gloved fingers trailing along his jaw. "And not just because of my power, or my position on the Convocation. I take good care of my pets.”

His eyes burned into me, gaze heated and intent. "You haven't had your turn, Mistress. Will you not let me please you?"

I chuckled. “That is not necessary. In truth, this encounter was calculated to give you what you needed. That has been accomplished, and I have others who can give me what I desire.”

He nestled close against my side, discontent. “Might I remind you that a man’s mouth is much the same as a woman’s?”

“Only until he opens it.”

Irritation shot through him. “Then give me something to occupy it with, _Mistress._ ”

Perhaps it was simply from experiencing his emotion, but I felt my own irritation grow as well. “Do not tempt me.”

“Please, Mistress,” he whispered, his breath tickling my ear. I seized him by the hair, pulling him back so I could see his face.

“Have you not had your fill of being dominated? For that is what I will do if you put your face between my thighs. I will not give you any quarter.”

He smiled, wicked, and my heart fluttered in response to the spike of lust that filled him. “Had my fill? Nay, Mistress; I would not be begging to feast upon your loins if I had, would I?”

I narrowed my eyes. He certainly _thought_ he had a clever tongue. I resolved to be the judge of that. I used my handhold upon his scalp to force him downward. “Then let us see if you can, as the saying goes, put your money where your mouth is.” I guided him to the crux of my thighs, and he went willingly, stretching out between them. He braced his elbows on the bed, and I raised my legs, bending at the knee to let him settle into position.

My hand, still tangled in the strands of his hair, guided him to my entrance; his fingers slid up to part me, holding me open for his perusal. I sighed as his tongue swept up and in, letting my eyes fall partway closed. He delved deeper with each stroke until his nose pressed against me. I let him set the pace for now, curious to see what he would do given some slack in his reins.

He alternated caresses of his tongue with pursed lips, worshipping my sex, murmuring occasional soft sounds against me. I trailed my fingers through his hair, giving him gentle encouragement every time he found something I particularly enjoyed. He certainly had some skill, presumably born of experience, though his attentive mien did him credit as well. Not to mention myself, I mused as he found my clitoris with the tip of his tongue, flicking across it and making my back arch. He chuckled, the sound buzzing pleasantly against my skin.

I tightened my grip on his hair, grinding my hips against his face. His fingers taloned, pressing into my folds and holding me further open as he slicked his tongue in and out faster. He curved the tip up at the end of his strokes, making my breath hitch, my abdomen clench with pleasure. I relented at his soft sound of complaint, releasing his hair and permitting him to catch a breath. He continued to tongue me, tracing up and down my entrance, his breaths warming and cooling me as he recovered.

“Well? Is that all you have for me?”

His eyes shot up to me, narrowing, and he pressed his face once more into my folds. I let myself smile as the rhythmic caresses warmed me, making me begin to clench and move in sync with his ministrations. Head falling back, I drew my legs up until the points of metal on my boots dug into his thighs. His emotions spiked, surprise, fear, lust, pain, and he raised his head.

“Mistress,” he groaned, “those are _really_ sharp.”

“If you must insist on wagging your tongue, put it where it belongs first.”

His gaze sharpened, warm eyes going hot and lips parting for a moment. Impatient, I pulled down on the collar, forcing his mouth to where I wanted it. His lips sealed over me, suction making my vaginal walls press together. I grit my teeth, holding in a hungry sound by force of will alone. Once the trembling ache passed, I carefully drew the metal spikes along his skin. He moaned against my intimate flesh, fingers curling as he arched. I stopped, careful not to fully puncture his skin. He was still new to this type of play; I did not want to put him off it by taking things too far before he was ready.

My spurring had the desired effect; once he recovered he set back to work with a will, tongue lapping rhythmically at my core. His nose pressed into me, finding its way to my sensitive bud and rubbing across it. I gasped, hips bucking, and he gave a chuckle at my reaction. Concerned about the building tremors in my legs, I relaxed them, letting the metal slide off his skin to poke more safely into the mattress.

"Now use your fingers.” I tried to make it a command, but mounting desire made the words almost wanton, needy. He complied, one finger probing, joined by a second a moment later. His lips moved up to my bud, pressing the shrouding flesh up, wringing an involuntary cry from me as they laved gently over it. I pressed upward against him, demanding; his fingers increased their pace in response, and he hummed a high note, using his falsetto and driving me yet wilder. His fingertips crooked, as though beckoning me, urging me on, and his lips sealed tight over me. I screamed, fingers digging into his scalp and hips writhing senselessly as I peaked, as pleasure sent me spiraling to completion.

He continued to stroke and suck me, drawing out the orgasm and leaving me trembling under his mouth, my body curling up as I panted and sobbed. Finally the waves of pleasure washed over me and away, leaving me limp. He released me, fingers sliding out, and moved up my body to curl at my side.

“I’ll grant,” I panted, “that you have some skill at that.”

He chuckled, and satisfaction blossomed through him at the praise. I turned to face him, putting a hand on his waist, noticing as I did that he had apparently enjoyed pleasuring me if his erection was any indication.

“I think I should reward you for your initiative. Would you like me to help you take care of that?”

He blinked at me, and, smiling, I sat up. I let myself recline against the headboard of the bed. “Come here.” With my guidance he arranged himself to lie along me, his head resting between my breasts, his hips between my thighs. I let my hands trail down his sides to rest on the bony arches of his hips.

“Now,” I murmured into his ear, “show me your hand.” I took the lubricating oil again, pouring a measure out onto his palm and returning it to its place. “I want to see you caress yourself.”

Drawing in a shuddering breath, he did as I asked, his head pressing into my chest as he arched. The gleaming oil made his cock glisten as he worked it up and down his length.

“Enough.” He stopped on a groan, and I brought one hand up to brush his jaw briefly. “Mmm, not to fear. This _is_ your reward, after all. I will permit you to control how tightly you hold yourself… but _I_ will be in charge of the movement.” Grabbing the shackle, I pulled his hand down until it fisted at the base of his shaft, then slowly moved it back up to the head. His hand tightened as he reached the tip, and I kept him there, massaging the head for a few moments. My hands clenched involuntarily, the leather of my gloves pressing into his skin as his head tipped back, lips parted and color riding high on his cheekbones.

Smiling, I leaned closer, holding his hand still as my lips moved over the ridges of his ear and settled at his cheek. “Do you want me to take it slow or fast?”

“Ah,” he groaned, his eyes rolling toward me. “Mistress… may I request it be in between? Not too fast nor too slow.”

I cupped his chin. “You may.” I began working his hand up and down, making him stroke his shaft and then give an extra turn over the head before repeating the motion. As I did, I let my hands roam his skin, caressing and occasionally applying clawtips in a gentle drag over his flesh. I crooned encouragement to him, feeling his body tense as pleasure mounted. A flush spread slowly across his chest as his breath came faster and harder. I built him up steadily, resisting the urge to withhold his release. As delightful as it was to see him writhe, it wouldn’t do to torment him overmuch.

I sped the pace, beginning to lay kisses and soft bites along his neck and shoulder. Feeling his desire begin to sharpen, my fingers on his hip dug in reflexively, my own breath hastening. His head fell back, rocking limply against my breast as he began to peak.

“Yes,” I murmured against his jaw. “Just so… yes.”

He groaned, gut-deep, body contracting and hips rising as his release began to jet out. I slowed the pace, continuing to stimulate him carefully—not letting the intense pleasure stop just yet but careful at the same time not to overdo it. Slowly I brought him down, releasing my aetherial grip on the shackle. His hand fell limply to his thigh. Smiling, I again stroked him, whispering praise. I waved a hand, whisking away the milky fluid beginning to dribble down his abdomen. He turned his head toward me with a sigh, and I cradled his chin.

“Now, if you are ready, I can teach you how to remove these bindings.”

Hunger lit in his eyes, an eagerness that matched the desire he’d shown upon seeing my toys on display. “Why, Mistress, I thought you’d never ask.”


End file.
